Chapter Twenty-One Sophie
Twenty-One
Sophie
Sophie had always considered herself a devoted disciple of the Church of Tea, but this morning’s desperate need for coffee transcended mere religious fervor. It was a full-on spiritual emergency.
“Just work faster, you sadistic little contraption,” she muttered at the travel kettle Grace had lent her, which seemed determined to extract maximum dramatic tension from the simple act of boiling water.
Every night in the boathouse brought new adventures in pioneer living.
So far she’d discovered three leaks in the roof, a family of mice with apparent architectural ambitions, and the fascinating fact that when the lake breeze hit just right, the entire structure made a sound reminiscent of a whale with bronchitis.
She glanced out of the window toward Luke’s boathouse, memories of yesterday’s floating garden adventure sending a pleasant warmth through her that had nothing to do with the reluctantly heating kettle.
The feel of him on her, in her, all around her, had been playing on repeat in her head all night like some delicious movie she couldn’t stop rewatching.
She hadn’t seen Luke since they’d returned to the docks yesterday afternoon when Jake had pulled up with a couple of other rugged types to go fishing.
The kettle finally wheezed to a boil, and Sophie pounced on it, pouring the water into her mug.
Then she glanced at her laptop, still closed on the small desk she’d wedged into the corner, and cringed.
Four thousand waiting for an update. Four thousand who’d collectively contributed tens of thousands of pounds to her dream of a floating bookshop, and she’d gone radio silent for days since her “I’m finally here! ” update.
“Right,” she muttered, taking a long sip of her tea. “Time to face the digital music.”
Settling cross-legged on her secondhand sofa—rescued from Mabel’s cousin’s garage sale and smelling only slightly of mothballs—Sophie opened her laptop and pulled up the crowdfunding dashboard. Over fifty unread notifications. Her stomach knotted with guilt.
The most recent was from Juniper Skye, whose profile picture showed a young woman with vibrant purple hair and glasses that took up half her face.
Juniper ran a hugely popular BookTok account and had been one of the first to share Sophie’s campaign, gushing about the “cottagecore dream of a floating bookshop” to her three hundred thousand followers.
JuniperReads: Sophie!!! Are you alive??? Haven’t seen an update in FOREVER! My followers keep asking about the #cherryblossomboathouse and I don’t know what to tell them! Please send proof of life (preferably with lake views)!
Sophie winced and quickly set up her phone on the makeshift tripod (a stack of Jane Austen novels. Sacrilege, perhaps, but Jane would understand). She smoothed her hair, pinched her cheeks for color and hit record.
“Hello, wonderful backers! Sophie Bennett here with your Cherry Blossom Boathouse update, coming to you from the actual boathouse!”
She panned the phone around to show the interior, including the corner where Luke had stacked his tools.
“As you can see, it’s a week since I moved in and we’re already making progress! I finally have running water that isn’t the color of…well, let’s just say a strong cup of builder’s tea and leave it at that. And the loo flushes now. Yes, I know, glamour central. Try not to be jealous.”
She grinned at the camera, sweeping it round to catch the patched floorboards.
“I’ve personally sanded a section of the original flooring…
look at this!” She crouched down and aimed the phone at a square of smooth, honeyed wood among the rough planks.
“Tell me that isn’t worth all the splinters.
” She quickly pointed the camera at the broken floorboards at the back.
“Planks to be replaced, let’s not dwell on that. ”
She then straightened up, brushing her knees before panning the phone toward the huge arch window to the west of the house, which had been boarded-up by Luke.
“You’ve seen photos of this gorgeous window already,” she said.
“However, closer inspection revealed cracked glass, so it’s been boarded up until we get that sorted.
Once we do—you’re gonna love this—I plan on getting a giant window seat installed.
” She smiled and bit her lip in anticipation.
“Think cushions, blankets, the whole cozy-reading-nook fantasy. You’ll all want to move in, I promise. ”
She didn’t add that Luke would be making the window seat. She was pretty sure if she mentioned his name, her blush would send out some obvious “I’m shagging the handyman” signals.
She spun to the opposite side of the boathouse, framing the smaller window.
“And this little guy? Sorry, it’s getting the chop.
In its place will be a massive floor-to-ceiling bookcase.
And when I say floor-to-ceiling…” Sophie tilted the phone upward, sweeping all the way up to the open second-floor balcony.
“I mean all the way up there. You know those bookish fantasies where the shelves are so tall you need one of those ladders on wheels? Yeah, that’s happening.
And yes, I absolutely plan to get a ladder. Obviously.”
She padded to the back of the room and gestured at the shadowy space beneath the upstairs landing, beside the spiral staircase.
“Kitchen’s tucked back here. You don’t need to see that yet.
It’s basically a graveyard of broken appliances.
But I plan to have a coffee and tea machine installed and keep lots of cake there for customers. ”
Sophie crossed back to the front of the house and stepped outside, dropping her voice.
“Okay, quick tour of the decking before my neighbors hear me narrating like I’m on a lifestyle channel.
” She gestured to the decking to the side of the house, in front of the boarded-up window.
“Picture little bistro tables, fairy lights and the best lake views in town. Coffee mornings, sunset book clubs, maybe a cheeky glass of wine. You get the idea.”
Finally, she looped round to the front again, pausing the phone on the pretty windows flanking the door.
“And here is where I’ll have a book display I’ll change up every week and for the seasons.
Think themes like ‘Blind Dates with a Book’ and ‘Spring Flings.’ Autumn pumpkins and cozy mysteries, Christmas fairy lights and snow-dusted romances, spring blossoms and poetry anthologies. ”
She placed the phone upright on the windowsill and did an awkward little bow.
“So that’s where we stand!” she said as she wrapped up.
“I promise to be better about these updates going forward. I wanted to confirm that the grand opening is scheduled for eleven weeks from now. I know, I must be mad! I can’t wait until then, to show you all how your amazing support has transformed this little slice of lakeside literary heaven. Until next time!”
She ended the recording and slumped back against the sofa cushions, exhausted. After a quick edit to remove her awkward pauses and one particularly undignified snort-laugh, she uploaded the video to the campaign page and sent a separate message to her top-tier backers with a few extra photos.
Her phone pinged almost immediately.
JuniperReads: SHE LIVES!!! And that boathouse is EVERYTHING! Need more pics ASAP! When can I visit??
Sophie smiled, feeling a strange, bubbling excitement as she looked around.
The boathouse really was everything. And it was really hers. All of it. Even the leaks and wheezing walls. And she was going to transform it into something wonderful, one task at a time.
There was a familiar “Luke” knock at the door.
Sophie lunged for the handle with embarrassing eagerness.
Luke stood on her porch, toolbox in one hand, a thermos in the other, looking typically attractive in worn jeans and a faded blue T-shirt that had seen better days but clung to his shoulders in ways that made a sudden heat go through Sophie’s body.
His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered, and the scent of soap and coffee created a combination that should have been illegal before noon.
“Morning,” he said, giving her a kiss that was way too chaste.
The air between them suddenly felt charged, the memory of yesterday almost tangible. For a moment, Sophie wondered if they were going to abandon all pretense of renovation work.
Then Luke cleared his throat, turning toward the staircase. “So. Time to make sure these death-trap stairs don’t turn your pretty ankles into modern art.”
Sophie buried her disappointment. She did have a bookshop to launch, after all.
“About the stairs,” Sophie said, keen to keep him close anyway. “I wanted to run something past you. I may have got a bit carried away with Pinterest again.”
He sighed, giving her his “Oh God, not another one of your mad ideas” looks.
“Hear me out,” she continued. “What if each step of this spiral staircase looked like the spine of a different book? Too much?”
“Yeah, too much.” But she could tell from the way he was looking that he was thinking about it.
The next few hours passed in a flurry of productivity, which included Sophie briefing Luke on the counter she wanted him to create, complete with what could only be described as a full theatrical performance of her bookshop fantasies.
“Right, so I’ll be standing here,” Sophie announced, positioning herself behind the imaginary counter with the solemnity of someone addressing Parliament.
“Dressed in some absolutely gorgeous oversized cardigan. I’m thinking chunky knit, possibly cream, definitely something that screams ‘literary sophisticate with impeccable taste.’ ”
“Relevant information,” Luke said.